


Enough to Spare

by moon_opals



Category: DuckTales (Cartoon 2017)
Genre: Gen, It got me, Last Crash of the Sunchaser
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-11
Updated: 2018-08-11
Packaged: 2019-06-26 01:40:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15653148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moon_opals/pseuds/moon_opals
Summary: Anger didn't come to Donald. Not this time.





	Enough to Spare

Anger didn’t come to Donald. Not this time.

He remembered those days fitfully. Anger hammered against his head, but its clang started months before her disappearance. Yes. That’s what everyone called it then. Her disappearance. Her incident. Kinder words had never been so cruel.

She was going to leave. Again. She determined an ancient Amazonian treasure claimed by the mysterious boto was worth the risk, and as usual, she was determined to locate it. He cried to her that a month was unacceptable. The eggs weren’t six months. Her attention was required. They needed her attention.

Her chuckles were sprinted slaps to the face. _They’re babies_ , she chimed in her naturally oblivious way. Hands on her hips, scowl peppering her beak, she waited for his response. He reminded her of the three doctor appointments scheduled. They were ducks, but technology had advanced a long way since their parents’ time. Diapers were needed. Bottles. Formula - _Ducks can’t breastfeed,_ he hissed.

She nodded through his arguments, feigning interest though she listened attentively, and sighed at his conclusion. _Yes_ , she agreed, there was much to do, but she’d be back by then. She promised. Each egg received a sweet kiss, and she left in her beloved Sunchaser, never once looking back.

He’d been so angry. So angry, so angry it felt as if nails were being driven into his skull into the tender mass his brain was comprised of. But he had settled. When she and Scrooge returned with their bounty, he had given them a tense congratulation before thrusting the eggs into her unexpecting arms. Something must’ve clicked, maybe his scowl or maybe the sudden heaviness in her arms, since their expeditions were less frequent after that.

In the meantime, she chose names, giggling at each and every attempt Donald made to repeat them. The baby pram was purchased at the most expensive store in the city, and was one of the rare, automatic, no questions asks or complaints heard from Scrooge. This was only after it passed Donald’s meticulous safety inspection.

She gave him hope. He'd give her that. He’d always give her that. She led him to believe things would be different. They had to be different, for her and the eggs. His annoyance with Scrooge was more at his obliviousness. There was always something special about those two - nothing to be ashamed or jealous of, but something to be wary of.

Donald wasn’t dumb. He wasn’t an idiot. His voice - _a speech impediment,_ thank you very much. His bad luck. All the factors that discounted him as the ‘good’ twin were concealers. It was a matter of time, he mused, before the next adventure tickled her fancy, an itch she’d ignore until she couldn’t anymore.

When the time came, there was nothing to do except be happy. “Are you insane,” another clenched fist waved in the air, “the eggs are going to hatch anyday!”

“I’m not insane!” Her easy going demeanor diminished, “This is an opportunity, Donald! I don’t want my kids hanging about in the Amazon or Ithaquack or Dismal Downs when they can have the stars!” Stars exited in a breathless gasp, and Donald realized then with certainty research was conducted for far longer than he could have ever anticipated. _How long?_ He wanted to seethe, _How long have you waited to spit it out?_

“I want them to live to see the stars!” He spat back at her, “You should want that too! An adventure of this magnitude is too much, Della! You need to put your family first!”

He saw it then. He saw the hammer clang on top of her head. He saw the nails drive through her skull, shredding her brain tissue into mush. She thrusted her finger under him, eyes flashing a dark, angry black, and she shouted in a pitch closer to a feline hiss, “I do put my family first! I do it for them! I’ve always done so!”

“You’ve done it for yourself, Della!” He turned his back to her, gripping the pram with all his might, reminding himself the children didn’t need this type of energy, “You’ve always done it for you! At least be honest about,” even more softly, “of all people...you should know.”

For years he debated whether she heard him, heard that small, tender, quacking sentence he never imagined speaking aloud. But she didn’t stop him. Scrooge didn’t turn around. He should’ve known better.

Donald’s anger was palpable. For Scrooge, for lying and not telling him the truth until the Spear of Selene disappeared from orbit, or whatever it was that occurred. For the stars and moon, for the cosmos that had taken his sister (his best friend, his person) away from him.

For Della.

His fingers twisted around the box he carried onto the houseboat. He stared into the chlorine water and sighed.

“Is that the last box?” Dewey asked. Exhaustion, disillusionment, aggravation, and a multitude of emotions Donald was well acquainted with molded onto the boy’s face.

Donald’s chest ached, “Yeah.” He set it on the deck, “The company will be here to load the houseboat any minute.”

“Great.” Which was not great, Donald was able to detect from his tone, but as Dewey gripped the box into his no longer too small, too weak arms, Donald stepped forward, hand outstretched.

“Dewey?”

“Yeah?” Looking back at him, some of his annoyance waned, “What is it?”

Anger at Scrooge was easy, always so much easier than being angry at her. Donald rarely discriminated. His anger knew no bounds, never did, and never would. He raged at her ten times more than he ever raged at Scrooge.

His fingers trembled. His tongue was heavy in his beak. There was so much he wanted to say.

“Make sure you’re careful with that box. It’s kind of heavy.” He smiled weakly, “Don’t overstrain yourself.”

Surprise flickered over Dewey’s face, “Wow, uh...okay, will do.” He disappeared, returning to his brothers. Soon, they’d be in their car on their way back to the marina.

Donald looked back at the mansion. He saw his bleak reflection on the second floor, fifteenth window, slumped in his chair, fists twisted into the arms of the chair.

 _Family helps family,_ he words rung hollowly in his chest. He sucked in a tight breath. This was the moment, as familiar as it was. With ease they entered this life, and with similar ease they exited it. Was it that easy all those years ago, he wondered. For Della to make her decision. A bitter chuckle passed through his lips, shaking his head he boarded down the ramp to start the car.  
The engine roared to life. He sat and waited.

Anger didn’t come to Donald. Not this time.

He had enough exhaustion to spare.


End file.
